Saturday, December 28, 2013

Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal- 3 Poems

The branchless tree
saddens the birds
who remember
how they nested here
and stood on
the branches all the time.
There is no music,
no song from the
birds. They are
confused and perplexed.
The torn branches
have been swept away.
Gary tells me it is cold.
I believe him.
He walks the streets
of  Los Angeles,
sometimes looking
somewhat the worse
for wear.
I know it is cold.
I am wearing a sweater
and a jacket.
Gary just has a long
sleeve shirt on,
the same one he has
worn for days.
When I am getting
to work at 6am
Gary is already up.
When Gary tells me it is
cold, I know it is
not an understatement.
Tired of her face
I told her so
and she fled so
fast it caught me
off-guard so I
grabbed my things and
I left the place
not to come back
for two weeks to
cool off and get
my mind straight for
looking at her
face that could have
sunk thousands of
ships.  She was no
Helen who’s face
sailed a thousand
ships.  I grew so
tired of her face
that I could not
keep quiet so
I told her so.

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